Inevitably
by Vixray
Summary: In which Ianto doesn't say what he means, but Jack figures it all out anyway. Also: a guide to reading between the lines. \\ for Stephan


**_disclaimed._**

.

Time seemed to slow as they danced.

"You know, you can't have everything you want," Ianto said, close to his ear, yet still so far away. "Well, most of the time you get most things, but occasionally… I just thought you should know — you can't expect it all the time."

 _I'm not enough for you, am I,_ were the unspoken words.

"I know," Jack said, unable to tear his gaze away from the figure in white.

Ianto noticed, as he always did, and he circled them so that Jack's back was toward her and stopped, swaying to the distant music.

"Have you ever gotten married?"

"Only twice."

" _Only_ twice," Ianto repeated with an incredulous laugh. He drew away to look at Jack's eyes, which were no doubt lost in time. "And both times were…"

"To women," Jack confirmed.

Today just reminded him of those times, that was all. When you had lived as long as Jack did, you got afraid of seeing people grow and leave and inevitably die. He was simply afraid of letting Gwen go, really, afraid that she would suddenly discover what was better for her and never come back.

"How did you manage it with, you know, your job and everything?" Ianto asked.

Jack pressed him closer and felt the tension in his shoulder. It had been hard. Gwen was beautiful in white, like a damn angel. And Torchwood and aliens and weddings and angels didn't mix well.

"I didn't," Jack replied. "I failed."

It was a while before Ianto spoke again. "Do you miss them?"

"Every day," said Jack.

"How many people, exactly, do you miss?"

There was a tear hanging on his lower lid, but he couldn't blink it away because Ianto would feel it when it trickled down his face. Their cheeks were pressed together.

Jack sighed. "It varies."

"Will you miss us?"

 _Will you miss me?_

"Yes, I will." Jack let the tear fall. There were more on the way. "I think I'll miss you the most, Ianto Jones."

Ianto drew away when he undoubtedly felt the dampness of the tear, but his hands stayed around Jack.

"I don't think so," he said.

Jack looked at him.

"I think in a few years' time…" Ianto's voice petered off, and he had to swallow. "In a few years' time it won't matter anymore."

"Ianto —"

"Let me finish." His hands were clenched in Jack's shirt. "Once we're all dead, it won't matter who you liked, who you didn't, who you did, and who you wished you'd done. It'll all just run together for you. There were others who came before, and there will be others just like us. We won't matter anymore to you."

Ianto was right, Jack knew. Whenever he opened his mouth, he was usually right. But Jack, like the thousand-year-old bastard he was, liked to spare people the truth of thousand-year-old wisdom.

"You will always matter to me," he said to Ianto. "And so will the rest of you. I never forget."

The three women in white were blurring in his mind. Angel, devil, alien spawn. White, white, white, veils, and vows. Two of them he could call his own and one that was slipping away. No, all three were gone now.

Ianto smiled, his lips a fracture on his face. "Jack, you don't have to lie to me about what I already know. But… one at a time, yeah?"

 _Kiss me_.

And so Jack did.

"We'd better find a room," he murmured against those lips that tasted like a thousand others.

Ianto breathed harder against his mouth, and Jack took the initiative and led him away. The door to the ballroom closed softly, and, perhaps it was only his imagination, but Jack could feel the eyes of the white angel on him.

"Jack. Jack —"

The music was fading away.

"What is it, Ianto?" he asked wearily.

"I think, if I could… if it were possible, I would spend the rest of your life with you."

 _I love you._

Jack almost laughed. "No, you wouldn't. Trust me — you wouldn't."

 _You don't. You only think you do._

"I would," Ianto insisted stupidly, his eyes gleaming with frustration and determination.

Then, Jack did laugh quietly, and he reached up and stroked Ianto's jaw, feeling stubble prick his palm and tears prick his eyes but in fact feeling nothing. He had promised Ianto a room, and Jack liked to keep his promises — when the circumstances allowed for it.

"Let's go," he said, leading Ianto down the hall.

It was all the boy was good for, anyway.


End file.
